He Was But A Failed Detour

A voice full of delight came through the line. "Beth! I knew you wouldn't disappoint me! I'll send you the invitation immediately!"

The call ended. Beth stood at the far end of the corridor, her fingertips still trembling.

Not far away, inside an office, Rick was speaking in a low voice to comfort Summer. Summer leaned against him, sobbing as she poured out her fear and grievances.

An academic power couple, fighting side by side—they looked perfectly matched.

Beth stood there, her heart feeling as if it had been soaked in formalin—cold, numb, and lifeless.

"Beth, are you all right?" Summer noticed her first and immediately tightened her grip on Rick's arm.

Almost by reflex, Rick moved Summer behind him.

The wariness in his gaze was like a scalpel, slicing into Beth's heart inch by inch. He was afraid she might hurt the partner he valued most.

The man who once said, "I recognize only your talent," now guarded against her as if she were a corporate spy.

Only after Summer was escorted away by an assistant did Rick walk over. He reached out, as if to touch Beth's shoulder.

"Beth, the situation is very complicated right now. The more trouble you cause, the harsher the board's punishment will be. And we're close to the final results. I don't want any distractions. I'll handle the data issue—why do you have to…"

"I told you there's nothing wrong with the data!" Beth's eyes suddenly reddened.

Rick seemed startled by her intensity. He paused, then softened his tone. "All right, all right. None of that matters anymore."

Doesn't matter anymore.

Those words were like poisoned needles, piercing her already shattered heart.

He still didn't believe her.

Seeing the stalemate, he reached into his pocket and took out a velvet box, handing it to her.

"This—you've always wanted it."

Beth's pupils shrank. She opened the box. Inside lay an exquisitely designed fountain pen, a tiny star engraved on its barrel.

It was the limited-edition commemorative pen of her most admired, late Nobel laureate—only ten existed in the world.

"You gave it to Summer!" Her voice trembled. "I saw it—in the pen holder in her office!"

"Summer liked it, so I gave it to her first." Rick frowned and grabbed her hand. "Consider it an apology to me for the trouble you caused this time."

"That pen is my entire faith in academic pursuit!" Beth was on the verge of collapse. "How could you treat it like something you can casually give away? You know how important it is to me!"

She reached out to snatch it back, but Rick suddenly clamped down on her wrist and flung her aside.

"Beth!" he shouted her full name for the first time, his eyes terrifyingly cold. "It's just a dead object. Is it more important than the reputation of our entire institute? Have you not made enough of a scene?!"

He used too much force. Beth was thrown hard to the side, stumbling into a nearby lab bench.

Her waist slammed into the sharp edge of the cold metal. The pain nearly made her black out.

But Rick only cast her a cold glance before turning away.

"I'll take care of the data problem," he said, his retreating figure resolute and icy. "You—calm down and stop causing trouble for me."

The door slammed shut.

…

When Rick stormed out, Beth was still slumped on the floor, the searing pain in her side stealing her breath.

She stared at the tightly closed door—so decisive, so cold, without the slightest hesitation.

In her agony, she suddenly remembered that he used to worry about her like this, too.

Once, when she cut her finger on a shattered test tube in the lab and a bead of blood welled up, his eyes had reddened with distress. He carried her to the infirmary himself, his hands shaking the entire way.